


I’m so sorry, I wish I could've done more, but they’d have killed me. I’m so sorry.

by PlutoDecay



Series: Angst one shots. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Crying, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Slytherins, Hurt No Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mild Blood, POV Draco Malfoy, Pain, slytherin hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlutoDecay/pseuds/PlutoDecay
Summary: Draco Malfoy overhears the torture of his old classmates, and he desperately wants the screams to stop.Or: Draco Malfoy suffers a mental breakdown when he realizes he was fighting for the wrong side.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Angst one shots. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888279
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	I’m so sorry, I wish I could've done more, but they’d have killed me. I’m so sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags!!

The screams rang all throughout the manor. Mindless screams of pain. I could see the red light barely reach under my door, the screams followed the light. The brighter the light shone, the louder the screams. 

My bed was stripped, every last blanket was shoved against the door. Using my broom to try and shove them further into the cracks. To the point where the wood snapped in half. Still trying I kept hitting and hitting the broken piece of wood against the ruined fabric, trying desperately to fill the crack under the door. None of it was working.

Taking a step back, I looked at the mess I’d created. The bottom of the door had been filled with my bedding. Yet, the fabric was ripped to pieces by the broom. Discarded pieces laid everywhere around the room. Even some of my old robes had been torn to shreds trying to cover it. There were dent marks within the door, the white paint chipping off as the wood underneath started to splinter. The door knob hanging on by a thread, the once golden object now a worthless blood stained orb. Blood slowly dripped off of it, onto the once pristine marble floor. A puddle that was slowly turning brown around the edges, yet the middle still as vibrant as it was when it started. 

Looking towards my feet, the portrait of dear Grandmother Black was right there. Quickly turning I saw the mess behind me that had been left forgotten. The frame was ripped from the wall, one side of the strong metal; mother always claimed it was true gold, sent from France and hand craved by the most respected artisans the country had; was now scattered across the room. It no longer resembled a frame, but rather four long metal bars that served no real purpose. Some still held the resent filled cuts I unleashed on it minutes before, others were bent, never to be fixed, from when I threw them and smashed them with each other. 

I could hear her telling me to stop, to think of what I was doing. That resistance was useless and I should be proud of what was happening just the floor below. Her teachings of blood purity being the reason this was all happening in the first place. She brought Mother into this, if she wouldn’t have taught these, these vile things to Mother I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here. I told her this, screamed it at her. It was all her fault that I was here, there was nobody to blame but her. She thought them this way, even if Mother didn’t believe it as much as Bellatrix, their mother was to blame. 

The first cut into the portrait only resulted in her laughing at me, the same laugh I could hear Bellatrix using downstairs. It was almost as if they shared the same voice I realized. Her words she yelled at me while I raised the knife to go into the canvas again resembled what I heard her daughter say to my father moments before casting that spell on the Irish Gryffindor. The laugh she let out as I paused my hand up in the air the same as when the boy fell to the ground, writhing in pain, as his friends screamed at her to stop, the pain they felt only making their screams louder. His body almost frozen as the red light covered him. Their screams falling to deaf ears as she stopped the spell to only cast it again, this time her full focus on him. 

The knife dug straight into the canvas, her laughing subsided as I dragged it along the length of the portrait, going as far as dragging metal onto metal, to the knife briefly digging into my wall. Before she could even say another word, I struck the canvas again, and again, until it was in shreds, there were few pieces left within the frame. The others fell to the ground all around me, piling at my feet and all around the room, almost having a mind of their own. With the frame practically empty, I dropped the knife. The long silver created a deafening noise in the sudden silence, just barely scratching my leg as it bounced against the marble; so sharp that I couldn’t even feel it. The pieces of canvas soaking up the small drops of blood now coming from my leg. 

When the screaming picked up again was when I grabbed the frame off the wall, throwing it as far away from me as I could, only for it to slam into one of the polls at the end of my once perfect bed. The strength of the wooden poll beat the gold, causing the welded together corners to snap apart, leaving me with those four useless bars. One of them started flying back towards me, like Grandmother was trying to fight me one last time. I’d managed to step away just in time for it to create a dent into the wall. Paint chips flying everywhere as the gold dug into the wood, showing the true depths of what was beyond the wall. 

I pulled the gold out of the wall, before throwing it back to where the others had landed. The knife marks seemingly went all the way through, the wall now scattered with long and short cuts, depths and angles varying, the charm that had held the frame up slowly fading away. 

Turning the other way, my dresser had also been a victim of my anger. Each drawer was dragged out, one held on by a mere caught string of a pair of muggle pants I managed to smuggle in during Christmas break in my third year. Only one drawer still contained any of my clothing, many of them still shoved under my door. Things like my robes, or house scarfs had been torn to pieces, shreds of Green and Black fabric laid within the chaos. Slytherin symbol patches still burning in the now dim candle I’d throw them to, the protection charm the tailor put upon them still doing what it was meant to. Instead causing the flame to diminish, yet, if you’d look closely you could see the sides fraying, and threads starting to tear themselves apart. 

I held no hate for my house, many others I know against all of this. Secret whispers floated through the dorms, those scared to say they had hope that their parents, or others within, would lose. It was admirable to wish something like that, but I’ve grown to wish the same. I hold no hate towards those who think that way, but that snake, that shade of green, only shows hatred right now. Almost every laugh I hear in between the screams is from someone who was proud of that symbol. Until that hate can be beaten, I hope it burns. 

The old school books had been torn apart as well. Pieces of them crumbled and shoved all along the door. The hope to block out any remaining flashes. I’d had to use the blunt end of a ring to even get them halfway into the cracks. The ring I’d used now laying amongst the mess, the jewel held inside nowhere to be seen, since I had to dig it out with the knife to get the tiny blunt metal holding it in to push the paper through the crevices. It had been a special ring, one Father gave me, specially made. He’d told me when I was too young to know anything, that this would be the ring I would give the special pureblood women I would marry. The jewel he went on and on about that night, detailing how it had come to be, now useless, nowhere to be seen. If I am to find it, it’s fate would only be worse. The idea of it only proving how much prejudice the only man I was supposed to love taught me. Even with all meaning well, he too, can be blamed for the screams that will never leave my head, no matter what happens. 

No longer are the screams even recognizable. The light still shone through, layers of fabric and crushed papers doing nothing to stop it’s power. It reflected off the dropped knife, now holding two shades of red, taunting me with both parts of my current pain. 

Whoever they’d taken as victim screams were almost deafening, their screams overpowering the laughter from their captors, or the useless screams of their friends, begging for their pain to end. But she wouldn’t listen to them, they wouldn’t tell her what she wanted, and them, all too prideful, would rather suffer a fate worse than death than give her anything other than their screams. 

Hearing the similar crashing or metal onto the marble floor below I slowly sank against the door, the pressure of my body pushing all the fabric away, even with my attempts to force it to say moments before. The yells of Potter ringing through my ears, apparently him being the one behind the crash, his accidental magic he’d been showing signs of over the years angering them. Just barely could I tell it was Weasley who had been screaming, Potter’s broken screams of his name proving what point he could control himself too. 

Longbottom started to scream this time, yelling at whoever was angriest at Potter to get away from him. Laughs rang through my now uncovered door, before the red light flashed again and his screaming stopped. Just before the obvious thud of a person hit the floor, the quietest of sobs coming threw. Insults thrown around by the same people who caused the screams being mumbled. All before the screams of ‘bring him back’ ‘don’t hurt him’ started. Potter obviously being taken away from his friends. The door farthest from mine slamming shut. All before the Weasel started to yell at them did his screams start up again. 

Not being able to stop myself I sobbed into my hands. My body sank further down the wall, the splintering wood digging into my back. The almost dried blood on the door handle finding its way into my hair. The sobs wracking through my body, apologies to those below who couldn't hear me finding their way out of my mouth. 

I’m so sorry, I wish I could do more, but they’d have killed me. I’m so sorry.


End file.
